A Ring of Winds
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: Sam couldn't deny he had lost something with the Ring and with Frodo, even though he loved the world of the new Middle Earth and his family.


**A/N:** Written for the lovely Esther Huffleclaw for the 2014 Spring Gift Exchange! And a mix of poetry and prose because I couldn't resist. :D Hope you like it Esther!

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**A Ring of Winds**

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_There were always little shreds  
lost with time: little slivers  
that flew away in the wind  
they could never see,  
till after…_

**.**

The first few years without Frodo was like a cloth that had been washed too many times. A certain gloom hung over them all, hung over him despite the happy family he'd procured: the woman he loved so completely, and the little children who were the lights of his life… Somehow, it all seemed a little darker without Frodo there.

'He was a dear friend,' Rosie said, gently and a little bitterly as she caressed his cheek in the dark. 'You crossed Middle Earth with him.'

He'd made her wait for him…and even now there was something between them.

'I'm sorry, Rosie,' he said.

Rosie kissed his cheek. 'You are a good man,' she whispered, words vibrating in his skin. 'To stay with him until the end.'

He may have lost a part of himself as well. Maybe it was the growth he'd undergone on that journey. The horror's he'd seen. Or maybe it was those precious few minutes he'd carried the Ring, when he'd thought Frodo dead.

He'd wanted to give Rosie every bit of him, but that was before the journey to destroy the Ring. One year…had taken something from him he'd never get back. Frodo's departure to the Undying Lands had taken a little more.

Sam looked at his wife: older now, but still as beautiful as the child he'd swung on the farm-gate with, the girl he'd follow to the tavern and smile at, words he'd said to her in their younger days getting stuck in his throat. That was the woman he'd fallen in love with; the woman who loved him back.

He was the one who'd changed.

**.**

_Change was a thing that slept  
quietly amidst the peace  
but charged like a raging war-horse  
in turmoil and ache._

**.**

They were still happy: a happy family. The slight stretching of his soul did not stop him from watching his children grow, his gardens become beautiful again. It didn't stop him from holding his daughter's hand as they skipped along the bushy dirt path together, or holding his son in his arms as they rode along the well-worn path to Gondor and Strider. It didn't stop him from dancing with his wife at his children's weddings, from leading their peaceful Shire as the Mayor.

But, like his old Master, there were days where he felt thin, distant from the world. Where he felt even more prominent that part of him that was missing. Not even his children laughing could rouse him in those days, or his wife's gentle voice and hand. In those days, only thoughts of the ocean, and the Undying Lands beyond, would spark a little light – but then it would fade away and he'd get out of bed and be swept away by the beautiful world again.

That beautiful world made him happy: it was the world he'd fought for, tried to protect. The world they'd all tried to protect – Boromir and countless innocents who'd died, Gandalf and Frodo who'd given up their place on Middle Earth…

But sometimes, just sometimes, he could understand what Frodo meant when he said it hadn't been saved for him.

**.**

_Beauty…and happiness…  
Both of them were such simple words  
when said aloud  
but so difficult  
behind the door left unsaid._

**.**

When Rosie died, Sam knew it was time to face that truth he hadn't wanted to admit: that he had to leave his family behind. His children seemed to know, seemed to understand. Even if they had all grown up and gone their separate ways, they came to their mother's funeral.

Sam declared he was leaving the Shire there, though not to where, in front of her grave and the flowers they'd all decorated it with. They said no words to stop him, as though they knew he'd waited too long already, for the world and family he'd loved.

And they left all their words with the eldest, with Elanor who took her father's hand and walked him to the shores where his boat awaited him.

'Where are you going?' she asked. She knew the answer though; so did he. She just wanted to hear it said, as much as he wished to say it.

'Across the sea.' He looked out, to where the blanket of water stretches across the horizon and far out of sight. 'To a friend that left this world long ago.'

They were close to the water. Close enough so they could see their reflections in its face: Elanor still young and fair with her shimmering golden hair, and Sam old and worn.

'To the elf havens,' Elanor surmised, looking at her father, then at the sea that beckoned him. 'I wish you good fortune on your trip.'

She said nothing else; not how they'd miss him, not how they all wished he would stay, forever, with them. They were all too old for such tears: married, with their own families and homes now to keep. And he had hung on to Middle Earth so long, even when those moments where the wind and flower fragrance seemed to pass right through him grew. It was time for him to depart; perhaps the time had come long before, but he had stayed.

He held something out to her: the book given to him long ago by his dear friend, and Elanor took it, seeing the few blank pages that still stared. 'The story will go on,' her father said to her, 'so long as there are people to write in those pages.'

And Elanor did write, once she returned home to her husband's arms, about how she watched her father sail out of sight.

**.**

_A story always began and ended  
with a journey: a farewell  
and a hello waiting  
on the road ahead,_

_A road he was now upon._


End file.
